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Will it ever go away, she wonders? That small skitter of awareness along her spine when she senses him in a room. The way her mind picks out the echo of his footsteps even in a room of dozens of people. The absolute delight she feels when he catches her eye and grins in that way that makes him look barely a day over 30.
Sometimes she tries to sort through exactly what she and Chakotay have become over the years. Not friends really, but not intimate partners either. More than one, not quite the other. She has trouble explaining it even to herself. When B’Elanna or Tom teasingly ask why they haven’t gotten together, she doesn’t have any answer.
And now, he’s going back to the Delta Quadrant.
She’s not worried, per say. No one is more capable than Chakotay, and the Protostar is an exquisite ship with the best crew Starfleet can produce.
But she simply doesn’t know any other way.
When she tells him to call if he has any trouble, she keeps her tone light and her smile warm. Still, she sees the understanding in his eyes. He’s so vitally important to her, so much so, that to say it all out loud feels like an overwhelming task. The last thing he says to her that night is that he owes her dinner when he gets back. She asks him why but he just smiles and kisses her cheek.
A week later, she gets the news that the Protostar has been lost.
******************
It's twenty more steps to her ready room. Now five.
When the door slides closed she’s suddenly aware of how heavy the air is, how even the quiet feels loud in her ears. She knows he’s entered behind her, his footsteps stilling just past the threshold even as she keeps walking toward her desk. Even now he still allows her to choose the distance between them. It's harder than ever to decide what it should be.
Oh, Chakotay.
She’s full of questions, of course. Where and why and how the hell did this all happen to begin with. Then again, there have always been questions between the two of them. Uncertainty. She’s used to that.
When she reaches her desk she turns and faces him, resting her lower back against the front edge. The solidness bolsters her, mediates the urge to sink into a chair with relief and exhaustion.
“You came.”
“Why the hell didn’t you call?”
They both speak at the same time, her voice sharp, his gentle. Damnit, she’s not prepared for this. In front of a crew she always finds the fortitude to hold herself to an Admiral’s standard. Here, in the quiet of her ready room, that’s not always been the case with the two of them.
Just the sound of his voice is such a relief and a weapon at once, soothing as much as it cuts deep. Fear is the sword, reminding her that she’s not impenetrable to loss. She’s searched for him halfway across the galaxy, until even she believed that maybe she’d never find him.
Giving up on each other, though, was never something they did.
Or was it?
There’s that slight sting as she has the thought, the one that used to slice to the quick but now barely makes her flinch. She accepted a long time ago that they were fated to be trusted friends and colleagues. She’s treasured it, even. Chakotay is still the one she calls when she’s had a row with the admiralty and needs a level head to bounce ideas off. She’s still the recipient of regular communications when he’s on a mission, filled with anecdotes and jokes that make her smile until her cheeks ache. They’re one another’s sounding board. Their safe harbor.
It's been years since she truly imagined anything beyond that.
But it's those moments that swoop in and permeate her racing thoughts now. Brushes with intimacy that time and distance have done little to erase or temper. He still seeks her out to dance at galas, when the music turns rich and deep. She still finds herself drawn to touch him on the shoulder, the arm, or a familiar spot over his heart.
It's easier to drift from flirtation to camaraderie when they're both safe and whole. For years now they've had that luxury. She no longer finds herself staring down at his battered form on a biobed, forcing herself to keep breathing as panic claws at her throat. There's been a gentle comfort in knowing he's always there. His life is no longer in her hands.
And now, they're back here again. She's half at war with herself, trying to navigate old terrain with new rules. He's her friend, not her first officer. There's the full weight of Starfleet at their backs. Her only mission this time, was finding him.
Without the old parameters to guide her, she's floundering.
She tells herself it's the exhaustion, the adrenaline, the sheer disbelief that he’s here making the emotions swell up in her chest. There’s also the sense of deja vous that seems to hang in the air. Here in her ready room on a starship. A place they haven’t been since he wore three pips and she didn’t yet have grey in her hair.
“Kathryn.”
He says her name gently, softer than she’s heard his voice in a long time. There’s always a different timbre in the fraught moments, when it's just the two of them and a sky full of stars stacked against them. The sound makes her shudder a little, adrenaline giving way to raw relief.
In the end he’s alive. He’s safe. That’s all that matters.
“I honestly wasn’t sure I’d be able to find you this time,” she says lightly, her palms gripping the edge of the desk beside her hips. It's only a half- joke and they both know it.
She lets her gaze linger on his face, taking in details she could paint from memory if asked. In the taut lines of his cheeks she sees the tension he's holding. His dark eyes, usually so warm, are dulled with fatigue. This journey has taken a toll she doesn't yet understand.
And yet, that telltale furrow in his brow tells her he's likely concerned about her, when he's the one who has been to hell and back.
“For a while there, I prayed like hell you wouldn’t. Then, in the darker moments, I wanted you to. I knew it was selfish. By the end I think I'd stopped hoping for anything at all,” he says quietly, his voice strained.
Her chest aches at what he’s been through. Sacrificing himself for the fate of Starfleet and surviving ten years on that planet. Knowing that going home would mean putting the entire Federation in danger. She understands why he did it, and admires it fiercely.
But it still breaks her heart.
No one knows the crushing weight of responsibility more than the two of them. Chakotay has always shouldered it with grace, given of himself with little expectation in return. Part of her feels furious that fate asked him to do it again.
He’s thinner than when she last saw him. Still broad and solid, but without the bulk of middle age they’ve both gained since coming home from Voyager. She blinks and sees a young rebel captain who once took the hand she offered him. Sometimes it feels like only yesterday. Other days, like lightyears.
They aren’t two headstrong young people anymore, one bound by duty and one by resistance. Instead, they're a seasoned admiral and a captain, though Chakotay certainly doesn’t look that part at the moment. She thanks god for that ridiculous goatee and uniform that bring a spark of humor to a situation that’s far too weighted.
He's part of her story. He has been for so long the chapters with him feel greater than those without. It feels as if there's still so much more to be written, she couldn't possibly give up on finding him.
“I had enough hope for both of us, or at least enough stubbornness.” She tries to smile, wanting desperately to ease some of the weariness in his face. “And we’ve clearly both had some help.
A ghost of a smile crosses Chakotay’s face, “We sure have.”
Her thoughts fill with the ship full of kids who never seem to give up hope on anything, including finding Chakotay. They put themselves at an incredible risk, showed bravery that echoes that of an equally unlikely group trying to find their way across 70,000 of hostile space. Once again, she and Chakotay have found themselves in the midst of an exceptional crew.
The silences are getting harder the longer they stand here, the distance between them filling with too many memories. Older ones, layered with want and loneliness. A tightrope she once walked between her desires and her duties.
She picks absently at the edge of the desk. Tries to quiet her racing mind.
“Can I get you some tea?” she asks suddenly, straightening. Her hands need something to do before she wears a groove in the desk or throws her arms around him.
Something softens in Chakotay’s face. His eyes lose some of that lost expression that's been clawing at her. She tries to process the change, but he speaks before she can finish.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Chakotay breathes.
Her heart slams almost painfully against her ribs at the way he says it. Full of wonder and relief and a vulnerability that sinks into her bones. She hears all that because she feels it all too. There's no hesitation in giving the words back to him.
“I - I’ve missed you too.”
Is it possible, she wonders, to feel the press of words on the skin?
Chakotay pauses, pulls in a breath that makes his chest rise and fall, “I meant before this. Before I left on the mission.”
They’re quiet for a moment then, staring at each other across the room. It's a familiar feeling, that temptation to say too much after a brush with death. They’ve faced it so many times before. It's so easy to see his face five years ago, or even ten, as they stood together in the ready room of a very different ship. Easy to let those old feelings drift in like wisps of smoke around a fire, silent and unknown until she breathes them in the very richness of them. One breath fills her lungs with him. With the way they were a long time ago.
Still, old habits die hard.
“We won’t let it go so long between visits from now on,” she promises lightly, “Though I expect Starfleet won’t be letting you out of their sight for a while.”
If her evasion disappoints him he doesn't show it. Chakotay smiles softly and rubs a hand absently over his jaw, as if the bristle there feels as strange to him as it looks to her. It's been years since she’s seen him unshaven. Not since the long, haggard days on Voyager when they ran on fumes and desperation.
“Trouble does seem to find you and I, doesn’t it?” his eyes crinkle a little as he looks at her, his shoulders relaxing a little.
Now this type of banter she's used to. The subtle teasing. The affection always hidden beneath the veil of friendship. Though they're both clearly still hurting and worn thin, there is an inexplicable comfort in the moment of lightness. Perhaps they're both using it as protection from the intensity of the day. They've done it for so long.
Old habits.
It is in that moment she finds some of her equilibrium again. She raises her eyebrows with a feigned sternness.
“It's not the first time I've come searching for you, Chakotay, but I certainly hope it will be the last. We’re getting too old for this time travel nonsense.”
Chakotay clasps his hands behind his back and widens his stance in a way that harkens back to Voyager so strongly it leaves her breathless. How often had she tried to reprimand him in her ready room only to find herself struggling not to smile? His dark eyes show a glint of real humor for the first time today.
“I'll do my best, Admiral.”
She can’t help but laugh a little at the two of them. So many years, so many brushes with death and hopelessness. Yet, somehow, they’ve come to the other side again.
And though the feelings are still so complex, what she feels most in utter relief. Relief and gratitude that they’re here. Together. That she’s still flying toward him after all these years. She lets the smile spread on her lips, and sees it mirrored on his face.
It's enough to give her the courage to bridge the distance between them.
“Oh for heaven’s sake.” She laughs and crosses the room. “I’m so glad to see you.”
She’s hugged him many times over the years. When they’re broken and crying, when they’re leaping with absolute joy. Hellos and goodbyes and moments could have been more but stay tucked away for the pain of their almosts.
She’s still not prepared by the way his embrace shakes her.
He closes the distance at the same time and grabs her so hard it nearly knocks to breath out of her. From a distance he looked so certain, so sure. Now, she can feel the tremor that runs through his body as her arms close around his waist. She can't imagine how that must have been for him, to be thrown back years in the past with no chance to right the timeline. Neither of them handle helplessness well, and in some ways it's even harder for Chaktoay.
“I worried like hell about you. That you’d blame yourself or get killed trying to find me.” he mutters, his words softening as he presses his cheek against her hair. “Then I wondered…I just…”
“I’m fine. And I swear I've only violated one or two laws,” she says lightly, but is aware that her own grip on him is tight, her hands traveling the length of breadth of his back as if to catalog his shape. Taking inventory of how she can feel his ribs a little now, but being thankful for the warmth of him under her hands. He’s here. Whole.
Hers.
The word sends a small jolt through her stomach. Her ping-ponging emotions have her thinking things that a more collected version of herself never would. Well, maybe not never. Not recently anyway.
She’s suddenly aware that her eyes are stinging. A few rapid blinks cools the burn, but she knows Chakotay will read the emotion on her face when he pulls away. Ten years. He spent ten years on that planet.
What shape would she be in if she had spent ten years trying to find him?
Or longer?
There’s no question she would have kept looking. None at all. Just the short time has been sheer hell, tempered only by her training and the certainty that Chakotay is one of the most skilled, savvy, and determined men she has ever met. Her faith in his will to survive never faltered, only her faith in her own ability to go on if she never found him.
And there was an old, familiar fear, quiet and dark.
What lengths would she have gone to as time wore on if she never found an answer?
Death, as destructive as it is in its finality, also brings a measure of acceptance. A person is gone. No uncertainty. No hope.
The idea of never knowing where he was still sends a wave of utter panic through her. Once again she presses her palms to his back, solid and broad. The contact feels as essential as breathing in these moments. Reassurance given through touch that could never be done simply by words.
“You okay?” The way he speaks into her temple feels like a gentle nuzzle. It's so intimate, more than she’s prepared to handle. She pulls in a deep breath and manages a shaky nod.
After a moment she tries to ease back to look in his face and is surprised to feel resistance in his hold. Usually Chakotay breaks any embrace as soon as he feels her begin to push back. Her lead. Her way. Just as it always has been.
“Sorry, I just-” he gives her one more firm squeeze before releasing her. His hands slide over her forearms, her wrists, to link with her hands. “I’d been wanting to do that since I first saw you back there.”
“Me too,” she confesses, her voice thick. To cut the tension she gives his hands a gentle shake and clucks her tongue at him, “You’ve lost weight.”
“I’ll find it again now that I’m home.” A grin dimples deep that makes joy spread through her like sunshine.
She laughs and pats her chest with his palm before finally taking a step back. “We all do.”
“You look wonderful, Kathryn.”
In another setting the phrase wouldn’t give her pause. It could be said at a gala, a conference, as part of a greeting between friends who are getting older and no longer see each other every morning in the bleary hours before a shift.
The utter sincerity in it, unravels another part of the thread holding her together.
“So do you, considering,” she smiles, but it's difficult to keep her expression relaxed.
She wants to tell him that he looks perfect. That she needed the sight of him like she needed air. That the thought of never being in the same place as his laugh and his smile and his gentle heart nearly tore hers out.
The only way she knows to survive feeling this much is to cling to the practical.
“Starfleet will be on the line soon. Is there anyone- do you want me to get a message to anyone immediately of your safety? Your sister or-?” she trails off because the question feels uncomfortable then. Last she heard he was casually seeing a woman who taught at the academy, but that was some months prior.
“Just my sister and of course B’Elanna. I’m sure she’s going to give a tongue lashing for giving her more grey hair. Soon she’ll have as much as me.” He grins and runs a hand through the silver streak that has widened since she last saw him.
Still so handsome.
“Of course. I’ll do that ,” she nods.
Why won't her feet move? She tries to rouse her internal captain's voice and tells herself to dismiss him. He should rest. Prepare.
Instead she watches as Chakotay ducks his head, running his hand over the back of his neck in a gesture she knows means the next thing he says will carry weight. Brown eyes lock on hers and root her to the spot.
Whatever he's about to say, she's ready to face it.
“The only other person I’d want contacted, maybe most of all, is standing in front of me.” The humor fades out of his voice again and rattles her. “You know what you mean to me, Kathryn.”
Chakotay’s honesty has always been her undoing. Whether in disagreements or discussions or simple declarations of a loyalty she rarely felt she deserved, he has always been truthful with her. He is a man who says what he means and says it simply, warmth permeating his smooth baritone. For as many times as she’s doubted herself, she’s never doubted him.
“I’m always grateful that I met you, and that I still have you as a dear friend,” she says. “I wondered after we made it home if we’d remain friends or if we’d simply go our separate ways.”
She holds his gaze, wondering. Does he realize what he means to her? Will she ever tell him in plainly spoken words like the ones he gives so freely?
Or will they keep finding themselves here, on the verge of a confession long tethered to docks by circumstance and doubt. It's safer, she knows, to hold fast to the shoreline. It's where they’ve been for all these years.
But he’s alive. They’re here. And humor or deflection just don't seem to fit the changing shape between them.
So she loosens the bindings of her truth just a little.
“...sometimes I wondered if we’d be more than that,” she admits.
Sometimes the stars simply align, though it sounds cliche even as she thinks it. There are no protocols, no other people who would be hurt, no commitments sending one or other of them hurtling thousands of lightyears away.
“The door has always been open Kathryn. I just didn’t think you were interested in seeing what was on the other side.” he says quietly. “It's been a long time.”
Maybe. Or maybe it's been just long enough.
And then the truths start to come.
“It's never been easy for you and I, has it? There’s always a ship or a mission or …” she doesn’t list the other things. The names. That it wasn’t just protocol and procedure that kept them from falling into one another.
“I wouldn’t expect it to be,” his eyes are full of understanding, “but I think it'd be worth it.”
She’s nearly speechless. They’ve been here so many times. How can it possibly be different now?
Does she want it to be?
“Kathryn I just spent a lot of time certain I was never going to see anyone I knew ever again. I’ve done plenty of thinking. Some of it took me to some difficult places, and a lot of it was about regrets. And I told myself if we were ever here again, if I ever had the slightest hint that you might want to try this, I wouldn’t be too much of a coward to put my cards on the table. Not this time.”
She stares at him, feeling as if her heart is about to beat right out of her chest and land in his palm, where he’s probably held it for over a decade. He’s always been so careful with them. Maybe they’ve both been a little too careful, a little too complacent in what they had.
It would be enough, this deep, intimate friendship that seems unaffected by time and distance. How after six months they can have coffee and the laugh rolls just as easily off her tongue when he makes a remark of thinly veiled innuendo. They’ve smoothed over dozens of missteps and bumps in their journey by holding tight to a steadfast loyalty and belief that they would simply always be there when the other called. No questions asked.
But now, there’s a question.
Sometimes in this life we assume there won’t be any more questions. The road is set before us and the path is one we’re content enough to walk alone. It's not a lack of something so much as an acceptance, a happiness found in what is rather than what could have been. Are we selfish to think about more? Are those dreams only for the young and naive?
“I expect I’ve always wanted to, on some level. It just was never the right time for us. We both have so many commitments, so many responsibilities. And I honestly wasn’t sure if you …” she can’t quite find the words. They’ve been locked away for so long it's difficult to pull them into the light.
Chakotay’s voice is rough when he answers. “I do. I always have. At this point I know I always will, even if it never happens.”
If it never happens.
If. Not that it won’t, or never did, or can’t. All those excuses she’s made in her head for so long as to why a candlelight dinner is simply a meal or a walk in twilight is just a visit between friends. They’re still dancing around this thing between them. Sometimes the steps take them precariously close to that line between them, and sometimes they may even find their toes brushing something it's no secret they’ve both considered.
Chakotay, it seems, is done dancing now. He’s standing in front of her with the look of a man who has said his piece and has no regrets, whatever the outcome. When a person loses hope, she thinks, they realize there is no room for chances not taken.
She refuses to take ten years of her own to come to the same conclusion.
One breath, two heartbeats, and she closes the space he had made between them. She raises her palms to his shoulders in a way that starts tentatively, fingers dancing along taut fabric. The warmth and solidness of him is so familiar, so perfect, it's easy to link her fingers behind his neck and rest some of her weight against the front of his body. Even then, he barely wavers, looking down at her with a mixture of shock and amusement.
“You’ve kissed me before, Chakotay. If I remember correctly you were quite good at it.” She remembers the feeling of speckled sunlight dancing on closed eyelids as he lowered his mouth to hers in the clearing outside a gray shelter. Warm grass beneath bare feet and his palm on her cheek.
“I was a lot younger then. Maybe I’ve lost my touch. “
“Let’s find out.”
So she pulls him in , and kisses a man she’s loved for more than a decade. Who has been her friend, her enemy, her right hand. There aren’t words to describe how right he feels, gathering her close and making that soft rumble in his throat. It's less like fireworks and more like fireflies, soft and magical in a surprise that comes even after you’re certain something exists. You just need to be patient, and keep searching.
Until it's found.
It's a kiss that ends in a soft nuzzle, his lips dipping to nip at her neck until she laughs and squirms in a way that makes her feel young and beautiful. And that, she thinks, is just the most precious thing, to be with someone who makes you feel like the best version of yourself. Who builds your strengths and helps mend the brokenness. They’ve done that for each other for so long it's second nature. It's love in his perfect imperfection. Faith and joy despite all life’s darkness.
Years ago she crossed a galaxy with him, now she’s crossed it for him. Told herself there was no risk to great.
She says the same thing to herself now.
“Shall we have dinner later? My quarters?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’d ask you to stay, but…” she trails off. There are about a million things she needs to attend to, and the kids on her ship need a debrief as much as she does.
“I know, Kathryn,” he sighs softly, pressing a kiss to her jaw, “I need a shower, a shave, and a cup of tea, though I expect Starfleet has plenty of questions for me.”
“Are we out of our minds? At our age and with who we are?” she murmurs, palming his cheeks so she can look into his eyes. She looks for doubt, for uncertainty borne from the tumultuous events of the last several hours.
Of course, she finds none of that.
“We’re definitely out of our minds. You’ve had that effect on me for years when you look serious with that furrow in your brow.” he smiles and touches his thumb to the subtle lines on her forehead, more noticeable now than they were years ago. “It's always made it hard to breathe around you.”
“Stop that.”
“Why? It's making you blush right here.” A soft kiss to her left ear, “And it's extremely attractive.”
She can’t really think of a clear reason. In truth she can’t think about much other than what his lips feel like on her skin and his hands on her body. After all this time, what perfection it is to lose herself in him for a few precious moments. Moments worth all the waiting and the searching.
“I know we don't have time…I've thought about this for years, Kathryn…years…” his mouth trails down her neck, finding a spot that makes her arch and gasp softly.
“I'm not objecting.”
Because she's always wanted to, she runs her fingers up to stroke through his hair, scratching lightly at the back of his head with her nails. She's rewarded with a delicious hitch in his breathing.
“No, I mean I've thought about this before…not just because I was stuck on that godforsaken planet,” he rasps.
Another open-mouthed kiss on her neck.
God he's good at that.
She knows what he's feeling, this fevered need for confessions and truths. To suddenly unburden herself from all the lies she told to keep from reaching for him. Just to say yes, this is real. Just as it's always been. And just because they haven’t acted until now doesn't mean she hasn't wanted him in every imaginable way.
There’s an irritating beep from the comm unit on her desk. Damn. Duty always calls.
“Admiral? There’s a call coming in from headquarters for you.”
“Of course there is,” she mutters. She smiles apologetically at Chakotay, and his face holds nothing but tenderness and understanding as he lifts his head “I’m on my way.”
Chakotay presses his mouth against hers one more time, firm and lingering until her knees feel weak. “I’m going to change. Tell Starfleet I’ll be there in five minutes.”
It's nearly painful to let him go. The skin on her throat is still tingling from his mouth, the warmth of his palm lingering in her hip.
Screw regrets, she decides.
“Just be clear. I'm going to invite you to stay over, “ she clears her throat, “Tonight. After dinner.”
For a split second Chakotay’s face goes blank with what she assumes is shock. It's a bold proposition certainly, but it's one she wholeheartedly wants to make. No more room for misinterpretation. No more half measures.
Chakotay blinks and looks at her, his cheeks flushing. a slow smile spreads on his face, surprise fading into delight. Then heat. Then something deeper that makes her heart squeeze in her chest.
“Just to be clear, I'm going to say yes. The answer is always yes,” he answers.
Neither of them move.
"Kathryn, do you have any idea how long I've loved you?" He asks quietly.
She does Maybe she's always known. Or maybe simply that love this deep can't ever truly be hidden. It's in every touch. Every word.
"Probably about as long as I've loved you," she says, her voice shaking.
Chakotay seems to debate the merits of actually leaving, shifting his weight before taking a half step back toward her. Then the comm blares again. For an irrational moment she considers taking a phaser to it.
He chuckles quietly, “Okay, I'm actually going now. I'll see you soon.”
“Don’t get lost on the way,” she teases as she runs a hand over her hair, just to be sure she doesn’t face the other admirals looking fresh off a tryst. The joke and the motion both smother the rising panic she feels at watching him walk away.
Of course, he senses it.
Chakotay pauses at the door, ducking his head inside one more time to grin dimples deep in her direction. Despite the smile she sees that shimmer in his eyes, hears the subtle break in his voice, “You’d come looking for me.”
They have so much to talk about, so much to sort through. Still, as she holds his gaze, she feels the tenderness chase away any fear. There is that quiet certainty again. Things are changing, new chances given. No one is reaching to snatch it away from them this time.
They will face it all. Together. That trust is the most beautiful gift she's ever been given.
Kathryn's answer is easy. It always has been.
“Always.”